Severed Heaven (Niklaus and Elijah Mikaelson)

Chapter Eighteen: Why Can't We Ever Have Nice Things?

        I immediately caught my own lethargy. And having caught it, I exhaled, almost in self-mockery, sensing that if anybody gave any sign of guessing, I'd see through my own ruse. I'd also be confirming my guilt, but still refused to own up to it, after I made very clear to myself that I'd intercepted it fully. It would indict me even more. So, I exhaled again to confess that I'd been caught, but also to show I was good enough to own up to it— the feelings for Niklaus that his own brother had twisted and turned. I recognised what I'd done to them, what I'd let Elijah do to them. The whole thing was distasteful.

Or perhaps the noble brother had started it without my knowledge, nor my permission. He'd been caught, too, trying to affect total casualness onto the moment that we'd had together. He, too, had found something to smile about in me— namely, the shrewd, devious, guilty pleasure he derived in finding so many imperceptible affinities between the two of us.

And there may not have been anything there, and there wasn't, and I might have invented the whole thing, but both of us knew what the other had seen.

So, with so much insight, would he not have noticed the meaning behind it all?

Night had already fallen, and it reminded me of all the hours that I'd been here. I remembered when I told Vincent I would never side with them again, that I wouldn't be there to ease their problems, yet here I was; as if barefoot in the wildest winter, as if I didn't have a choice. I was simply not giving myself a choice.

I could still hear Freya chanting in the room next to this one. How could we have failed so easily, so totally stupidly? As I knew Elijah was downstairs with no one other than Marcel, I gave up on trying to find a spell better than the ones we'd already tried. My eyes hurried over countless pages of countess grimoires, but there was nothing that had earned my attention just yet— in other words, I had not found anything useful at all. What never crossed my mind was that there could be no suited spell at all, because Tristan was simply able to resist everything, and we might break through eventually, but right now we were running out of time.

Then, I heard something. I instantly froze. Yes, there was somebody standing in the doorway, and it wasn't anyone that'd been invited. As I turned around, I could barely catch a glimpse on who exactly it was, but I knew this was a member of the Strix.

Hands were around my throat, my back against the wall as I gasped for air. In attempt to peel the vampire's fingers off my throat, I failed horribly. When I watched his fangs appear, what crossed my mind was nothing but chaos and panic. I was still under the illusion that I was able to win this fight with just a snap of my fingers, and I could, but I couldn't breathe. Nor could I think. No oxygen at all was able to reach my brain. I dug through my clouded mind, painfully and slowly, and managed to say two tiny words. It was the easiest spell I could possibly think of. "Suctus incendia."

His skin caught fire, and I was released at once. I inhaled as deeply as I could, gasping for endless air. When he'd burned long enough, I snapped out the fire with one flick of my hand.

Freya. I needed to get to her.

I stormed out of the room. I found her; conscious and well, yet she looked barely alive. The blood on her clothing feared me. "I'm fine— Marcel healed me." She said in between deep breaths, and she pulled herself onto the sofa. Through her weakness, I watched her try to form words. "Get Elijah."

She did not have to say that again. Although, I had many questions, but despite that, I rushed down the stairs to find her brother. My mind was much more clouded than I would've liked. I continued to gasp for air. My feet had a hard time keeping up with my mind. I searched, and searched, looked around the compound, and then eventually, I saw him. What I found only haunted my doubts even more, because Elijah's body was on the floor, unmoving, dead. There was only one person that could've done this, and he was standing right there. He saw me, too. Why wasn't he saying anything? Why didn't he look like he was caught?